


Fake It 'Til You Make It (real)

by LadySlytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Supernatural Convention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14227092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: Written for the prompt:"Pipe the fuck down, asshole!"Stiles is presenting a lecture/panel at a Supernatural Convention. Derek disagrees with the topic he's presenting on. Stiles feels the need to teach the upstart beta werewolf interrupting him a little lesson in manners, and gets a bit more than he bargained for in the process.Notthat Stiles is complaining, mind you.





	Fake It 'Til You Make It (real)

**Author's Note:**

> Transferring my prompt-fill fics over from tumblr. Sterek; Alive!Hales!AU, Supernatural Convention. Stiles lives in Beacon County but not in Beacon Hills and has never met Derek before (though he has met some of the Hale Pack). Magical!Stiles, of course.
> 
> Comments are, as ever, lovely. Feel free to come bug me on tumblr.
> 
> ~ Sly

“That’s not really how that works.”

Stiles resisted the urge to grind his teeth, because _what the fuck._ “Correct me if I’m wrong...” He bit out, fingers curling into his palms so tightly his nails were biting into his skin. “But I don’t remember asking for opinions on any of my work. Or commentary from the peanut gallery.”

The man in question huffed in a way that spoke of distaste and Stiles _really_ wished he could see the asshole’s name tag, but the way the lights were set up to illuminate the platform/stage he was on made it nearly impossible for him to make out that level of detail from the distance he was at. “You’re presenting factually inaccurate information. I think it’s my civic duty to correct you.”

_One._

_Two._

_Three, four, five..._

_SixSevenEight..._

_...nineten..._

No, Stiles was _still_ pissed.

“Come up here.” Stiles snapped, because the _fuck_ if he was going to let some nasty little upstart screw up _his fucking seminar._ When the man made a disbelieving sound, Stiles snarled a little. “I’m serious. You just volunteered yourself with your mouth. Get up here so I can prove you wrong.”

A minute later, the man was jumping - yes, _jumping,_ the fucking show-off - onto the platform, looking disdainful. It pained Stiles a bit that he was _so gorgeous._ Which, yeah, a lot of the convention-goers were gorgeous; it went hand-in-hand with the whole _preternatural creature_ thing. But this guy was like... _unfair_ levels of hot. He had stupid, Disney Prince hair in a thick, lustrous-looking black. He had a chiseled face that would make an angel weep with envy, and the kind of body that said he could probably put Stiles through a wall - _or pound him through a mattress_ \- with little-to-no effort. He had eyes that weren’t even a fucking _color,_ because they were a greyish-blue with green shot through and the golden ring that denoted hazel in the center and _fuck_ they were amazing. He also had truly impressive eyebrows, which were raised at Stiles in pure, unadulterated challenge.

“Name, species, status.” Stiles barked, because this was _crucial_ to his research; to what he was presenting.

“Derek Hale. Werewolf. Beta.” There was a pause, then the man - almost grudgingly, it seemed - added. “Trained to become second-in-command when my sister becomes Alpha.”

Stiles hummed. “I know Alpha Talia, and Laura.” Stiles had trained with Satomi Ito’s Emissary, which meant he’d had some level of contact with the other pack that called Beacon County, California home; the Hales were large and powerful and pretty damned important. It just made Stiles _madder_ about being mouthed off to. 

“So you _know_ werewolves, and you’re still preaching this garbage?” Derek scoffed, looking unimpressed. A murmur went through the audience, riling Stiles further. “I only came to this seminar because I couldn't believe the convention administrators had _actually_ allowed this level of _bullshit_ to be presented.”

Someone in the crowd to Stiles’ right let out a little _whoop_ \- clearly in agreement with Derek’s words - and Stiles damned near saw red. “Pipe the fuck down, asshole!” Stiles snapped at the person in the crowd, though he never took his eyes off of Derek _fucking_ Hale. “And _you..._ you just fucking _wait._ This is literally what I’ve spent the last freaking _three years_ working on. I know my shit.”

Derek spread his hands, as though saying, _‘Have at it, then.’_ And Stiles was determined to prove him wrong, no matter that he’d had to _promise_ this seminar would be _theory only._ The administrators had told him over and over and _over_ that he was absolutely _not allowed_ to present a _practical demonstration_ of his research. But fuck it; he’d never been very good at following the rules anyway. That was how he’d stumbled across this particular bit of magic in the _first_ place. Doing what he’d been told _not_ to do was sort of his signature move. The administrators really ought to have known better.

Stiles closed his eyes, pulled his spark to the surface in an instant. When he opened them again, he knew they were glowing and swirling, like the iris was made of molten gold. He’d been told it was intimidating, and Derek did take an involuntary half-step backwards at the sight. Stiles rolled his neck, then brought his hands up, blue and white flickers of flame dancing around his fingers.

“Come on then, Hale.” Stiles taunted, his voice echoing oddly around the challenging lilt.

Derek tensed up, but obligingly set his hands palm-to-palm with Stiles’ own. The sparks immediately danced around Derek’s fingers as well, and Stiles locked gazes, saying softly. “Eyes. _Please.”_ The last was adding a bit grudgingly, but a nicety or two never went amiss. Particularly with magic.

Derek’s eyes began to glow blue - and wasn’t _that_ a surprise, as Stiles had been expecting beta-gold like Laura’s were - and Stiles immediately let his spark curl around Derek’s wrists. He let the magic sink in there, then took the thread of it and anchored it inside himself. Temporary, of course; he’d release it after he’d proven his point. He pulled his magic back, watching as Derek’s eyes returned to their human hue, and then dropped the werewolf’s hands. He turned to the audience and raised an eyebrow.

“An emissary may not be able to do this with such ease, you understand, unless they’re a spark rather than a druid or a witch, and a particularly powerful one at that. But it _can_ be done by someone with the proper skill set and it can be invaluable when dealing with rogues, omegas, or simply a transplant - via marriage, adoption, or whatever else - who’s having trouble bonding.” Stiles smiled a little reassuringly at the crowd and added. “A _natural_ bond will start to form in the wake of the artificial one, of course, and when that’s secure enough the spark can safely sever the faux-bond.”

“H-how...” Derek started to ask, faltering as he took a jerky step closer to Stiles. “How did you...it’s not _possible_ to...”

“To manufacture a pack bond?” Stiles snarked, rolling his eyes. “Of course it is. _If_ you know how. Tell me something, Hale. Does it feel false? Unnatural? Can you _tell_ I made it with magic between one breath and the next? Or would you be convinced you were _mine,_ if that was the only tether you had?”

Derek’s mouth moved silently for a moment, then he rasped hoarsely. “It feels real. It’s...it’s exactly like it should be, but I...I don’t...I... _how?”_

Stiles sighed, flicking his fingers to displace the bond and watching carefully as Derek gasped and staggered back a few steps. He’d been as gentle as he could, but... _well._ “If you’d take your seat, Hale, I’m happy to continue with my seminar and explain the theory behind how this particular bit of magic works, what purposes it can serve, and how it’s actually done.” He shot a frosty look at the crowd - restless and murmuring now with excitement rather than scorn - and added coldly. “I trust I can do so with _out_ further interruptions.”

Derek nodded meekly and hopped down from the platform as Stiles launched into the theory he’d been trying to explain _before_ he’d been so rudely called a liar and a fraud.

~*~*~*~

Stiles was packing up his notes when he felt a presence behind him. Without turning, he spoke. “If you’re planning to apologize, there’s no need. I know this is a new concept and it’s unorthodox, and I forgive your insufferable superiority in assuming you knew better than me. If you’re planning to be a dick, you can kindly fuck off.”

There was a moment of silence, then a gruff reply. “I...was actually wondering if...if you maybe...wanted to go get a coffee? Or...or dinner, I don’t ca...I mean, whatever _you_ want is fine, I-”

“Did the bond not cut cleanly?” Stiles cut Derek off, turning to him with a concerned furrow forming between his eyebrows. “I thought I’d dissolved it fully, but if you’re still feeling it...”

“No!” Derek said quickly, and a little too forcefully, to be honest. Stiles blinked at him in surprise and Derek cleared his throat awkwardly, a blush staining his cheeks as he continued more softly. “N-no, I just...I’d like to. Get coffee, I mean. Or dinner. With _you._ If...if you want to.”

Stiles blinked again, then asked dumbly. “Are you asking me out? Like...on a date? Is this...would it be a _date?”_

“I...” Derek’s mouth moved silently for a minute, then he admitted hesitantly. “Y-e-es? I mean, I’d like it to be.”

“Oh.” Stiles could feel the smile slowly curving his lips and he nodded. “Yeah, okay. Dinner sounds great.”

~*~*~*~

Later, when dinner was over and Stiles had dragged Derek back to his hotel room and the werewolf had claimed him _quite thoroughly,_ Derek murmured against mole-dotted skin. “I want to feel it again. That connection, with you. But _real_ this time. It...it felt right. _You_ felt right. I don’t know why, but it...it _hurt_ to lose that. And I really want to get it back.”

Stiles smiled and nuzzled into Derek’s throat. “My magic creates a synthetic version of the bond that’s most-likely to occur naturally, based on the respective magics of the people involved and a whole host of other factors I can only sort of wrap my head around and _can’t_ really explain, which is why it feels _so real_ and why a _true_ bond will form around it eventually. But I think...I _think_ it was simulating a Mate-Bond between us. And I am one thousand percent on board with making that real, if you’re up for it, too.”

Derek pulled him a little closer and rumbled agreeably. Stiles figured that was a _hell yes._ Stiles was still smiling when he slipped into dreams a few minutes later, secure in Derek’s arms. And if that smile grew a little wider in the morning, when he noted the first stirrings of a bond between himself and the werewolf...well, that was no one’s business but _his._

_**~ End ~**_ >


End file.
